


When He Was Her (And He Looked Different)

by starsdontsleep



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bodyswap, Fluff, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsdontsleep/pseuds/starsdontsleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodyswap; when the consciousness is exchanged between two bodies. (In which Arthur and Ariadne swap bodies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Was Her (And He Looked Different)

* * *

They don’t tell Cobb, because Cobb will _dismantle_ them if he finds out. They tell Yusuf, because playing with such a dangerous chemical compound that has such an adverse effect is probably something only he’d be able to help them with.

They don’t admit it and instead act as best they can like nothing’s wrong, because Ariadne doesn’t want him to get in trouble - Arthur still firmly believes it was his fault, despite not knowing what Ariadne had done or decided to experiment with. He is the pointman; he should _know_ these things are in the warehouse. 

Yusuf may have told them that he could fix it, although switching their consciousness back to their right bodies would take _time_ , but ultimately, it’s Ariadne looking at him, pleading and crying with _his_ face that finally, awkwardly, convinces him to do it. 

And they don’t tell Eames, because for some reason, they just don’t.

* * *

They spend the first night in Arthur’s hotel room, trying to get used to something that shouldn’t be possible. Arthur almost rubs off the numbers on his die, but he’s not even sure if it counts since these fingers can’t tell the difference between the reality and the dream. They don’t know his totem, only his mind does and really, that’s more than subject to compromise at the moment.

He rubs a hand over his face, watching Ariadne - himself - stare at nothing, hands twirling the chess piece. He knows that look on his face even if he hasn’t produced it since he first heard about Mal. Shock, devastation, numbness. He wonders if she can read him so easily now too.

“There’s a way out of this.” Although he knows he’s spoken the words, he has to hold down the way he wants to glance, search for the source of the voice. He’s not sure he wants to get used to speaking as her.

Ariadne looks startled out of her reprieve, but her mouth’s a thin grimace. “Yusuf won’t stop until he does.”

 _Neither will we_ , Arthur thinks, hearing his own voice and feeling calmed by it, even if only slightly.

They fall back into quiet, not able to bring themselves to discuss the things they need to, not yet. He knows he needs to be practical, to get things in motion, but he’s still too disjointed. He feels like he did the first time he’d come out of dreamsharing, unable to understand reality and not sure where he fitted in anymore; lost between the cracks.

Everyone may talk about their experience with a light heart, a hint of the wonder they first felt, and it’s true, but mostly it helps you ignore that first moment where you realise, reality won’t be enough, because reality _isn’t safe_ anymore. Your world is tainted, and you either move forward or lose yourself. It’s another reason why the number of businesses and users that are still - mostly - sane is so small.

He suddenly feels a wince form. He knows it was still her fault, but vaulting Ariadne into this on top of everything else she’s learnt in the past year… fuck. He’s been at this _ten_ years and he’s still having trouble accepting what’s happened. He knows she’s talented and intelligent, but everyone has their limits, and he doesn’t want this to be hers.

“There’s probably other cases of this occurring,” he begins, his mind finally starting to follow its usual pattern - the places he’ll have to look, codes and laws he’ll have to break. “It shouldn’t be unheard of, if not highly buried; it wouldn’t take a huge leap to experiment with transferring consciousness after sharing was achieved.”

She’s looking a lot more hopeful, and he hates that he can see it shining in his eyes because damn it he can _read_ himself and he feels the pressure she’s unwittingly putting on him. 

_She’s still so young_. The thought comes unbidden, and he has to look away.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne tells him and he looks up, preparing to dismiss another one of her thousand apologies, but she surprises him. “I wish it didn’t have to fall on you to fix this.” He blinks, and for the first time since it happened one of them smiles even if it’s his expression but _she’s_ a little rueful. “You’re not the only one who sees things, Arthur; I know my face too.”

Arthur nods, not having anything else to say to that. He changes the subject, wanting to talk about how they’re going to _deal with this_ and trying to resist the urge to involve Cobb. He knows Ariadne doesn’t want to disappoint Cobb. He also knows Cobb has a soft spot for the girl, so he doesn’t want to make the extractor mad at her but really, this is ridiculous.

His mind’s still working on how he’s going to convince her to involve Cobb when there’s a knock on his hotel door. He doesn’t even think about it, and that in itself will anger him for hours later. He just walks over and opens the door.

Eames’ openly surprised face doesn’t really make him pause, it’s his questioned, “ _Ariadne_?” that makes him realise what a fucking stupid thing he’s just done.

“Eames.” He knows more then sees Ariadne straighten up in her seat, and Arthur has to make himself act like he imagines she would. “It’s nice to see you!”

Eames looks at him critically, eyes running over him, and Arthur doesn’t know what to think - or do for that matter other then approach it like he would by playing a role in a dream. Forgery though, has never been his strongest suit.

Eames however, relaxes back into his easy stance, obviously not finding anything wrong - and really, what would he? - and Arthur is surprised to note that Eames _had been tense_. He frowns slightly, surprised Eames would let him see it.

 _Ah, but it’s not_ you _now is it?_

The thought’s proven when Eames asks, “Arthur around?” He hesitates, his eyes flicking to the living room for the briefest second, but this is Eames, and Arthur has always watched him sharply so he catches it. “You busy?”

Arthur notices the careful tone and the way Eames is slouched against the doorframe, his face now closed off, but it’s all in passing. He’s too focused on grasping onto the excuse with both hands. He makes himself beam as Ariadne would, and rambles off an excuse about architecture that he’s actually quite pleased with.

Eames nods like he understands, gives his patent drawl and leaves without asking about ‘Arthur’ again or even trying to come inside. It’s only when Arthur’s slumped against the closed door with relief that he realises he’d not only been expecting more of a fight, but that when he thinks back on it, Eames had seemed… different in his approach.

It’s only hours later when Ariadne comments on it, asking how he’d gotten Eames to leave so easily - without wanting to come inside and speak with them, pry into any and everything they were doing and discuss various different things that usually wasn’t work - that Arthur tells her the truth; he had barely done anything, Eames had just excused himself. 

The conversation mostly drops there but his mind is still latched onto it, on a more _manageable_ problem - even though Eames has never been manageable.

It’s later still, and Arthur knows that it’s a lost cause and that his answer will still be the same, but with Eames gone without a word and his own body asleep on the couch with Ariadne inside it, he goes to bed and throws his die once more on the bedside table. 

It still lands on a three. 

He falls asleep and doesn’t know what he dreams.

* * *

The next day is hell on Earth. 

Arthur wakes up and doesn’t have to go further then the searing pain his newfound breasts greet him with after the apparent awkward position he’s rolled onto in the middle of the night that he realises his day, and possibly his life are officially fucked and complete shit.

He sits up and doesn’t even know whether he should try and rub the hurt away - but that makes him too damn awkward just contemplating it - or just wait it out, and that idea makes him want to fidget. In the end, he just rubs his eyes and decides he needs fucking coffee. 

Ariadne - for the sake of his sanity he refuses to refer to her as anything else - is already up and staring blankly at a wall, clutching what smells like a cup of tea in her hands. It’s his favourite cup, and he wonders if it was muscle memory or just coincidence that she chose it. He wasn’t even aware his room had tea.

Her eyes are bloodshot when they flick over to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Arthur’s not sure if it’s a question or not so he just nods and heads over to the coffee machine. He checks the clock on the microwave as he does it. 5:15. He makes enough for a few cups. He’s going to be the living dead for most of the day but at least he’ll be caffeinated.

“I got the tea from my room,” Ariadne says quietly. He nods again and considers silently how long she’s been up. “I also got…” a pause, “I figured we’ll need to shower and change clothes.”

Arthur almost drops the cup he’s picked up. He looks at her incredulously and wants to shake his head emphatically for good measure. She’s got his resolve face on, and he knows she’s been thinking about this for a least a few hours by the droop of his hair and the slump to his shoulders. “Ariadne-“

“I refuse to smell just for the sake of modesty, Arthur.”

“Ariadne-“

“Arthur.”

He looks at her; she narrows his eyes. The coffee gurgles and he resists the urge to run a hand through her hair as he goes to set up his coffee - stronger than he’d planned five minutes before, but he’s just realised on top of everything else that Ariadne’s hair is in even worse tangles than his gets into on a bad day.

She asks him what he wants her to wear and he half-considers looking for some kind of alcohol to put a shot into his drink.

It may just be the morning, but Arthur has a startlingly good sense of when days will just go bad.

* * *

They spend an hour discussing what they’re going to do for the upcoming deadline on the extraction they’ve been working on. At the very least, they have a week before they need to do it, at the most two. He convinces Ariadne that if they don’t have a cure in two days they’re telling Cobb because they can’t go under like this. They’d be risking not only their subconscious but the job and everyone in the dream.

Arthur is supposed to be dreaming the first level, Eames the second. While Arthur privately thinks that they’ll appear in the dream in their normal bodies the logistics of the situation will still be shot and he doesn’t even want to pretend to know what might happen if he’s wrong.

With that out of the way, they begin the long, painful task of preparing for the day and deciding how they are going to work on their designated tasks for the extraction. There is no way he can design a maze the way she can, and she would have no idea how or where to hack for the information they need. Subterfuge is the only option, and he spends the better part of an hour getting her ready for it. 

She may be a quick study, but Arthur doubts that anyone but Eames could be thrown into this situation, deal with it, play someone off perfectly and also do their own work while keeping up the appearance of doing someone else’s. It’s a compliment and Arthur knows it, but he’s had a bit of a rude awakening to how fucking hard forgery is.

After all, Ariadne’s been trying to teach him herself too.

When they finally feel like they’ve gotten somewhere and not just danced around in ever more complicating and impossible circles, they try to shower. _Try_ being the operative word since Arthur just can’t bring himself to take off her clothes. Ariadne seems to have less trouble up until she reaches his pants, red-faced and tense as she can’t quite touch his belt.

In the end, he offers to let her undress him because he’s a damn gentleman when it comes down to it and he can’t bring himself to touch her either, even if he won’t say it. He doesn’t doubt she knows it, though she says nothing.

He keeps his eyes closed as she does it and the whole affair is silent and solemn. The few times he may have imagined something like this feel painfully wrong and are ignored. Arthur can feel any attraction he might have had for her fizzle out and get obliterated in this very moment.

As they step into the shower he wonders, not for the first time - as he needs something else to think about, and this seems to be the only way he can cope - how Eames can look in a mirror during a dream and not have a problem looking at someone else’s body.

When they’re done, he’s dry, and she lets him open her eyes they just stand there for a moment. His in the new clothes she’s chosen; simple and low-key, something considerate that wouldn’t annoy him or constantly remind him he’s a girl. He feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for her thoughtfulness. 

She smiles at him a little, knows what he means without Arthur needing to say it, before she closes her own eyes and he returns the favour. He tries not to look at his now too slender hands as they fumble with the buttons of his trousers.

He gets a little wet, and she doesn’t quite do the pomade to his satisfaction, but in the end they’re running late, so he counts his blessings that they’ve managed to look anywhere near respectable at all.

* * *

Their day at the warehouse is a disaster. Arthur would appreciate his ability to forecast levels of doom if they weren’t so closely tied in with his productivity on a job and the potential of him having his own body back anytime soon.

Yusuf is surprisingly good at remaining inconspicuous and keeping their transfer a secret; Arthur tries not to be agitated or suspicious at the reminder that Yusuf is not above deceiving his team if it suits him. He wonders if it might make him a security risk in the future, but decides to keep his uncertainty quiet for the moment.

After all, Arthur supposes it’s a kind of self-preservation for him to do as they ask - and he knows Yusuf isn’t the only one lying at the moment anyway, so he has no real right to judge. He may be many things and none of them might be pleasant, but he does try to avoid being a hypocrite whenever possible.

Besides, he has more important things to worry about at the moment. Such as Eames hovering near him as he stares at Ariadne’s design and tries to imagine how he’s going to implement what Ariadne told him to do next. 

Ariadne’s in the bathroom so he can’t ask her opinion; and they’re both trying not to notice when the other has to disappear like that. He is internally relieved that she’d told him, quietly and pink-cheeked that she’d just finished her period and he wouldn’t have to deal with it - which is assuming he’ll be back to normal in a month. But Arthur refuses to acknowledge that he won’t be by then, because at this point in time, if he allows himself to look at this from every angle and what might happen if Yusuf isn’t as good as he says he is, Arthur feels like a part of him might just crack.

And it still doesn’t help that Eames is _hovering right over his shoulder_.

Arthur grits his teeth, holding back a snarl, because he is Ariadne and she does not despise Eames and having her personal boundaries violated by him. He turns to look at Eames and makes himself smile like he’s seen Ariadne do a thousand times. “What’s going on, Eames?”

Eames gives Arthur a crooked half-smile. “Nothing, love. Just figuring out what’s got Arthur so fascinated over here.”

It takes Arthur’s mind a moment to understand two important things about that phrase. One; he is, for all intents and purposes, not Arthur and as such he cannot answer for himself. Two; he should not have forgotten Eames’s habit to be an annoying asshole who gets involved and pokes holes into everything until he’s satisfied.

“It’s just the new design plans we were going over last night.”

“Ah,” Eames nods. “Your late night rendezvous. I do hope our Arthur was a gentleman.” 

Arthur’s eyes narrow of their own accord but he does his best to smooth out his features just as quickly - Ariadne wouldn’t be offended; she’d be unsure what Eames meant, perhaps she’d even laughingly brush it aside. She wouldn’t be pissed off at his attempts to slander Arthur’s character and his intentions with Ariadne. Arthur tries to keep this in mind as he replies, but his words still come out with a hint of ice. “What else would you expect him to be, Eames?”

He looks over at Eames, expecting to see some amount of teasing or even a smirk, but what he gets is something much more surprising. Eames looks… thoughtful, and eerily like the way he gets when cataloguing a mark. It slides away easily, slower then it would have if he had been looking at someone else, and Arthur doesn’t quite know how to handle this new unguarded Eames. He feels vaguely uncomfortable since he has an unfair advantage at this point.

“Nothing short of his usual perfectly presented and restrained self.” Arthur is rather confused by the response, but then Eames smiles. Yet to Arthur’s eye, it lacks true enjoyment. “But I’m sure you could ruffle him out of that.” 

Before Arthur can say more - not sure what _to_ say - Ariadne’s coming back and Eames’s attention is surprisingly noticeable in how quickly it immediately shifts.

“You seem to have done well already.”

Ariadne frowns and chances a glance at him before looking back at Eames and saying calmly, “Shouldn’t you be working, Mr Eames?”

It’s his perfect response, but Arthur couldn’t feel more discontented with how things work out. He knows Eames’ comment is about the edges of disarray that cling to Ariadne’s attempts at being him. The pomade, the slightly unfolded edge to his collar; all little things that he’d notice. That Eames would.

Ariadne brushes his arm when she sits down and he understands her need for reassurance but he doesn’t think it could come at a worse time. From the corner of his eye, he sees Eames eyes zero in on the gesture then flick away. He then gets up and moves to another part of the warehouse. “I’d hate to snap your concentration, Arthur.”

Arthur closes his eyes and really hopes he’s wrong, that he’s reading things incorrectly, because if he’s being honest, he doesn’t like what it will stand up to if he’s right. He almost wishes he could tell everyone the truth; he thinks he’d be more willing to have Eames tease him about being turned into a girl rather than see him act like Ariadne’s protective older brother.

Of course, Arthur still hates him despite his obvious affection and friendship with someone who, privately, Arthur thinks needs the protection. But with their new behaviour and the theory he thinks it’s going to start kindling in his co-workers, he almost wishes for things to go back to normal.

It’s not like he misses the pet names and the mockery, but he would take that if it meant having something _right_ in his life again - not normal, because that was never there to begin with.

* * *

When Arthur catches Eames looking at Ariadne six times in one hour, he wonders what the man is thinking, and if this was normal, because if it was then why hadn't he noticed it when it was actually him Eames was watching?

* * *

“Do you know what you’re doing, Ariadne?” Cobb asks him when they’re alone together and are supposed to be talking about architecture. He looks concerned.

If Arthur wasn’t so distracted and unprepared for a conversation about her mazes, he’d be trying to change the subject. “What are you talking about?”

“I just don’t want you to expect things that might not happen.”

He blinks, feeling extremely out of the loop for a moment, before the idea clicks into place. The idea that Eames had already had. He has to bite back his own words and annoyances to make himself answer as she would; unaware of what they were doing. The name is unfamiliar on his tongue after years of disuse. “Dom?”

“I don’t want to interfere,” Cobb says softly even as his eyes narrow in a frown Ariadne probably doesn’t know is bordering on worry. “But do be careful.”

When Arthur leaves the room without a discussion on mazes and the tentative knowledge that his friend thinks he would be a shit boyfriend, he almost wants to hit someone. Preferably Eames, but he’d also take himself. Not that he could with Ariadne playing housekeeper at the moment, but he feels he has the right.

Yet despite the agitation, Arthur knows they just want to look after Ariadne. He would, unfortunately, be the same. So he doesn’t let his anger show and he doesn’t tell Ariadne what was said. 

Because despite the improbability, he actually worries about what it says that everyone believes that about him.

* * *

Yusuf comes over before lunch and gives them a smile that looks equal parts curious and unsure. “How are you? Any new symptoms to document?”

Arthur’s eyes are hard but Ariadne speaks first, his voice far more emotional then he’d like to hear it. “Do you have anything, Yusuf?”

Yusuf hesitates and glances at Arthur before back to Ariadne. “I have almost finished a potential serum that should reverse the effects.”

Arthur’s eye twitches. “So you have nothing?”

“I have had very little time to trial these compounds, Arthur.”

“What compounds?” Yusuf jumps while Arthur and Ariadne both stiffen. They all turn to find Cobb looking at them suspiciously.

Arthur opens his mouth to respond, and for a second he’s thrown off balance when his own voice comes out, but then he realises its Ariadne and that she’s probably saved them a lot more complications then his reply would have. “Something I asked Yusuf to look into.”

Cobb still looks confused and his eyes keep flicking to Arthur and Arthur knows that he is Ariadne and therefore Cobb is just worried and possibly even parental over how she might be involved, but really, it’s their own decision and he can’t talk when it comes to keeping secrets from the team.

When he looks back at Ariadne, his eyes are narrowed - irritated. He doesn’t glance at Arthur but says forcefully, “Go with Eames to get lunch, Ariadne.”

Arthur goes to protest, but one swift glare from Cobb and a kick from Ariadne tells him he has no choice but to shut up and do what Ariadne does. He nods and goes over to the other side of the warehouse where Eames is. He’s stomping his feet slightly but he knows he’ll get away with it at the age he is portraying. 

Eames opens the door for him, and when he glances up he sees that Eames’ face is, for a second, drawn tight and he’s looking out of the corner of his eye, back at Cobb, Ariadne and Yusuf. Back at _him_.

Eames closes the door and Arthur is still staring at him. Eames puts on a smile that Arthur isn’t buying.

It slides off without effort and Eames gestures for Ariadne to follow. “Come on, love. Let’s go get lunch.”

Arthur looks at Eames and realises for the first time that Ariadne is supposed to know something that he doesn’t. Eames’ guard is being dropped for the wrong person, and as someone who is supposed to know all the facts, he suddenly finds himself missing more then just his own skin.

He finds himself focusing intently on Eames and seeing Ariadne’s body as more then a problem and more then a disaster. He sees it as a means of extraction.

“Are you alright, Eames?” he questions.

Eames barely looks at him. “Just deciding on which place is best to go for lunch; some Chinese or the more traditional array of sandwiches?”

Arthur plays on a hunch his mind has only just come to. “I was talking about getting Chinese with Arthur.”

Eames’ thumb comes up to brush his nose in a tell that Arthur thinks only he and Cobb would know to press for. “Then obviously you haven’t tried the lovely sandwiches in the area.”

“You think they’re better?”

“Absolutely.” 

They cross the road and Eames still doesn’t quite look at him. Arthur tries to adjust his stride to keep in time with Eames when years of experience make him want to walk in a way this body won’t allow.

Arthur waits until they’re on the sidewalk again before asking, hoping he could trust Ariadne to be this forward, “Why do you think Dom is acting so strangely?”

Eames doesn’t react. “Mm. How so?”

“He told me to be careful and to make sure I knew what I was doing.”

“Ah.” Eames stops and Arthur is quick to do the same, cataloguing his face for any change, any gesture that would let him understand what is going on in the mind of the forger. “I believe,” he says, his voice hiding no amount of emotion, “our faithless leader was referring to Arthur.”

Arthur tries not scowl, hating having to admit that he had been hoping for more information from Eames than what he already knew, even when past experience had shown him not to expect more than the bare minimum and a sarcastic jab from the other. 

Yet he’d somehow thought he’d get more as Ariadne.

He considers trying again but before he can, he finds Eames has used his moment of consideration to melt into the crowd; an ability Arthur is frustrated to admit never usually works on him

Arthur knows Eames wouldn’t have gotten far, and that he wouldn’t expect a tail since Ariadne doesn’t think like that or know where he’s going, so Arthur knows he has all of the advantage. 

_He_ knows where Eames is going. It’s the restaurant down the road that Eames found him in three years ago, when he’d been buying a sandwich for lunch on a job that Eames was _not_ on yet somehow managed to work his way _into_. It’s now the café the forger favours when he’s in town.

Arthur knows what he’s expected to do is go back and try and spy on what’s going on at the warehouse, because that’s what Ariadne _would_ do, but he is also aware that she can handle herself and that she has Yusuf to help her if she finds she can’t.

What he doesn’t have however, is an answer to his question, and he finds that it is drastically more important than Ariadne keeping a grip on his composure. He should probably wonder what that means about himself, but he’s far too focused on what all of this means about _Eames_ so he doesn’t stop to wonder or think it over.

He just follows him.

* * *

The walk to the café is easy to make but doesn’t afford him much chance at going undetected if Eames were to look back. He lingers for a few minutes to allow enough distance to fall between them, and since he knows where he’s going, it doesn’t matter that he loses sight of the other.

He spots Eames again when he reaches the café’s entrance. Eames has his back turned to the door and his hands are in his pockets. He’s staring at the menu board above the counter and is ignoring the girl at the cash register who’s giving him more than just one appraising glance.

Arthur wonders what has Eames so preoccupied - if it is the same subject he’s come to investigate or if Eames is remembering what happened last time he was there; standing in the same spot as before. Arthur knows it’s the same place because he lost a perfectly good suit half a metre away; standing at the cash register when Eames had ambushed him.

The counter was probably still stained and the waitress still traumatised over Eames’ bleeding face being pressed against the bench. He hadn’t felt repentant over the incident until another, identical suit was sent to him two days later with no note, no blood and no coffee stains but so undeniably _Eames’_ doing that, when Eames ruffled his hair later that same afternoon in a dream, Arthur didn’t turn around and shoot him in the head.

Arthur’s quite positive that Eames knows it’s the only reason he still retained his hand as he’s never attempted the move again - but he never did stop smiling at Arthur until long after the end of that job.

There is a good reason Arthur stops coming to this café after that.

But he is Ariadne now and has much more liberty with doing things he wants to, and with the inquisitiveness she’s known for and the direct approach she tends to take, Arthur is able to confront Eames in ways that he couldn’t in his own skin.

Running a finger over the die in his pocket for nothing more than good luck at this point, he steps forward without discretion and towards Eames.

He does not want to sneak up on him because Ariadne wouldn’t try to - wouldn’t be _able_ to - and Eames turns his head before he’s made two steps. His eyebrows skyrocket.

“Ariadne?” His eyes narrow, but it’s subtle. His voice is light and casual. “I’m surprised you’ve found you’re way here.”

“You said the café around the corner,” he answers while also starting to wonder, just how he’s going to explain this when Eames inevitably demands more.

“There are multiple cafes, love.” Eames doesn’t look suspicious now, in fact, if Arthur is reading him right, which he is slightly concerned he might be; Eames looks hurt. “But I suppose you already knew. Did Arthur take you here for a latte and muffin?”

Arthur tries not to grind his teeth at the dark tone Eames’ voice has taken. It’s faint, but it’s there, and it starts on his name. He’s beginning to get really pissed off with the idea that everyone dislikes the idea _he_ may be dating Ariadne.

“And what if he did?” He puts his hands on his hips instead of into fists because this is what Ariadne would do. It feels awkward and his anger is mostly negated because of the unnatural feel of it, but he still thinks it gets his point across.

“Then he’s far less classier than I thought.”

Arthur should feel weird referring to himself in the third person, but as it is, he’s too frustrated to pay attention beyond knowing he should not be saying ‘I’. “Just because he wears suits all the time doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a café!”

“Yes, Ariadne, I am well aware that when not walking around with a fine stick lodged up his pert little arse he frequents coffee shops and even his local park.” Arthur is slightly taken aback; he shouldn’t _know_ that. Eames’ smile looks bitterly pleased. “You, my dear, should know that I am far from unobservant when it comes to our darling Arthur.”

It takes him a moment but Arthur manages to rearrange his approach and his voice with some considerable effort. “Than why did you get so mad…?”

“When he brought you to our café?”

“ _Our?_ ” The incredulity, he does not have to muster.

Eames’ twisted smile has not moved but somehow, this time, it has become deeper and now it involves his eyes. Arthur, for the first time, truly believes this is something he should not be hearing.

“Perhaps not.” He attempts a loud, put-upon sigh as he looks at the ceiling, but the lines are all wrong and Arthur can see how every piece of it is costing Eames. After a moment that seems far too long, he looks back at Arthur and reaches out to pull Ariadne into a hug. His arm is around her shoulder and everything feels far too rough around the edges. 

Arthur’s statue-still at the touch and this time Eames’ sigh is real and soft and sad. He puts his cheek against her hair and his lips beside her ear. When Eames speaks he says the words softly but with such quiet betrayal that Arthur feels unaccountably horrible. “I knew you would end up with him, Ariadne, but I would have liked you to have told _me_ about it first.”

Eames disappears and Arthur doesn’t move.

All he can think is; _fuck_.

* * *

Arthur gets back to the warehouse to find Cobb on the phone talking in a way that after years of experience, Arthur knows is to their client. His words are short, to the point and the level of frustration underneath his tone lets Arthur know the call had interrupted his talk with Ariadne. She’s not looking up from his computer screen, but her hands aren’t typing anything either.

He strides over to her and leans forward and over the laptop. “I need to talk to you,” he hisses. His mind is too frantic and holding onto an anger that he doesn’t quite know why is there and even less about how to express. 

He just knows they need to leave if they are to do this, if he is to confront this; though his chances of escape are extremely limited. And he can’t risk running into Eames again, not yet.

But Ariadne just looks up and shakes her head minutely. “We can’t. They’re mad.”

“I’ll be a lot worse, Ariadne,” he quietly growls, “if you don’t get up and leave with me _now_.”

She looks hesitant, torn over whatever has happened while he’s been gone and the way that she’s been following his advice - utterly and completely - since this happened. Arthur would feel guilty and mildly like he’s taking advantage, but he’s frustrated and unsure and it doesn’t settle well with him. He wants the answers that he knows Ariadne can give him; so he aims low. If he’s right, it will get a reaction. “We need to talk about _Eames_.”

It’s with the right inclination and the lowered whisper of the forger’s name that has Ariadne looking painfully worried and standing. They clear the warehouse before Cobb can hang up and when they’re in Ariadne’s car and speeding in a different direction to their hotel Arthur can swear he sees Eames smoking on the opposite side of the street.

A tightness that he doesn’t like to admit has formed weighs heavily somewhere in his chest; he glances at Ariadne but she hasn’t noticed him. A spiteful part of him wonders what Eames sees in these moments, when she’s this unobservant.

The thought stings him, because it’s harsh and uncalled for. He looks away from her and into the rear-view mirror; all he sees is Cobb on his phone and an otherwise empty street.

Arthur ignores his next three phone calls and he doesn’t talk to Ariadne.

* * *

He goes to another part of town and pays for a hotel that bills by the hour. The desk clerk doesn’t raise an eyebrow and barely glances up. The lift doesn’t work and Ariadne is practically twitching by the time he shuts and locks the door; whether its concern for Eames or the state of their surroundings, he’s not quite sure.

He doesn’t quite care either; he focuses on other, more important things. Checking the room over, because paranoia keeps you alive longer in their business, Arthur calculates how long they have before Cobb starts searching for them. He’s using a female name, so that should buy him more time than usual.

If anyone will know how to find them in this state, it will probably be Yusuf. 

Arthur intends to make this quick. “Ariadne-”

“Why are we here?” She cuts in, his nose wrinkling with distaste as she briefly scans the room. When she’s done, her gaze sharpens on him. “What’s wrong with Eames?” Then, almost as an afterthought. “ _Where_ is Eames?”

“What do you know about him, Ariadne?” Because it’s exactly what he wants to talk about; to see if she _knows_. And he promised himself he wouldn’t be a hypocrite, but honestly, he would be a fucking better prospect for a boyfriend than _Eames_ , damn it.

Ariadne frowns at him and she looks honestly confused and he knows she hasn’t got around to lying with his face that well yet. So it’s true.

“Well, I don’t know much about _any_ of you,” Ariadne finally responds.

“You know more than you’re letting on, Ariadne.” When the pin doesn’t fall, he adds more, “If I had known as much as you, I would have been able to navigate the conversation I just had with Eames a lot better.”

The puzzlement is there but he can see the thoughts clicking over in her head just as easily. When it finally slides into place, he can read her like a book; shock, guilt, dismay and of all things, a concern that looks far too focused on him. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Arthur you- did he?” 

Her eyes are flicking across his face as if it’s one of her mazes that she’s analysing frantically. She catches his eyes. “He thought like Dom, didn’t he? And oh, oh you wouldn’t have tried to stop him…” her voice drops and she looks so horribly upset that Arthur hesitates over his conclusion of her part in all of this. “He told you, didn’t he?”

_That he likes you?_

Arthur wasn’t feeling so sure anymore and he ran over the facts in his mind, forcing aside previous opinions and potential biases.

_You, my dear, should know that I am far from unobservant when it comes to our darling Arthur._

_When he brought you to our café?_

_I knew you would end up with him, Ariadne, but I would have liked you to have told me about it first.”_

“He told me…” Arthur trails off; his mind suddenly feeling like it’s weighed down and his body starting to become far too stiff. The gears won’t turn and his mind is stuck on repeat, going over Eames’ voice and tone as he said those words.

Arthur licks his lips and tries again. “He said…”

But he can’t get it out, both mentally and physically.

So Ariadne does it for him.

“Oh god, Arthur, I’m so sorry,” she takes his hand, looking so remorseful, “I didn’t know he was going to do it! I swear I would have told you first, but I promised I wouldn’t ever tell you that he loved you.”

It’s at that point, Arthur’s world disintegrates.

He feels like the room should be breaking down with him, water rushing in, the building collapsing - just some sense of distortion that tells him it’s a dream. Something that would prove it to him in a way the die in his pocket that he’s frantically rubbing can’t.

 _It can’t be right_ , he tells himself, and he tries to find contrary evidence. He runs in different directions, tears his memory apart as successfully as he can without a PASIV and comes up with nothing but the specific, undeniable and finally acknowledged truth that Ariadne is right. And that it has been there for a lot longer than he wants to admit.

His very core seems to be shaking, but the only thing that moves is his hand. He needs a table to throw the totem on, but he can’t seem to move, and Arthur knows he can remember how he got here. Oh, can he _remember_ \- and doesn’t he want to forget it.

“Arthur!” He startles as Ariadne reaches out but doesn’t quite shake him. Her voice is trying to go higher than his is physically able to reach and it’s making his voice crack.

Arthur blinks at her; the pomade isn’t working the way it usually does because she’s nervous, he knows this because that particular mess is caused by stressed fingers attempting to run through it. His suit is wrinkled too, his tie even slightly askew. 

He imagines what he must look like to her, if it’s that obvious that all the wrong angles have been shoved into the picture and are desperately clinging to what is _meant_ to be there. He thinks his life is beginning to look remarkably like a shattered object being put back together with outdated superglue.

Arthur wonders when he stopped feeling his usual control.

“Arthur.” Tentative hands touch his shoulders. “Arthur, please listen to me. He wasn’t ever going to tell you because he knew you’d reject him!”

A part of Arthur, a silent, disconnected part from what’s left of Arthur’s brain, points out that Eames has no basis for this belief. But blessedly, it doesn’t go further than his mind.

“He didn’t want to hurt your friendship.” Ariadne continues forcefully, staring him in the eyes and he can almost believe he really is having this conversation with _her_ and that it’s not his own mouth saying unfamiliar things. “He didn’t want to lose what he already has with you.”

Somehow his mouth works. “Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes narrow dangerously, and he knows that look. It’s the glare he gives people before he’s about to shoot them and if his brain wasn’t already half plastered across the wall behind him from the explosion her words have caused, he would probably be either concerned or a lot more expressive over it.

“Because I won’t let you hurt him Arthur, and not just because it was my fault you found out, but because Eames is a great guy and because the way he looks at you…”

She cuts herself off and glances away from him.

Arthur swallows. “What?” She doesn’t continue, but he presses, “What-”

The words suddenly rush out of Ariadne like they’ve been dying to be said, like she thinks it’s the most heartbreaking thing in the world and she shouldn’t, but she’s going to tell him anyway. “He looks at you like even if you shot him, broke his heart and left him bleeding on the side of the road, he’d still be in love with you, Arthur! That he’d still follow you towards and into the gates of hell, because he thinks you’re _worth it_.”

Arthur feels it like a physical pressure being laid over his chest. It’s like a kick without the waking up and he thinks he might be an asshole and worth all the comments made about him by Cobb towards Ariadne.

“I think I already did that…”

Ariadne looks at him like he deserves her sympathy. He looks at her like he deserves a gunshot.

* * *

They stay in the hotel room because what else are they going to do? Ariadne lets him sit on the bed and throw his die. She doesn’t say anything and he pretends he doesn’t wish he was about to wake up.

They don’t talk for a long time.

When the silence is finally broken, it’s by Arthur and he doesn’t know why he asks.

“Why does he do it?”

“What?” She asks, and the swift response makes him know she was desperate for a conversation.

“Everything. With me. All of it.” Then. “Why doesn’t he just stay away from me? Move on or something?”

Ariadne smiles and it’s a soft, sad thing. “Arthur, is there anything in the world like dreaming?” He shakes his head, even though he doesn’t quite get it. “So would you give up dreaming, just because you got shot every once in a while?”

He never would.

It makes him want to close his eyes and punch something, because he hates feeling so helpless and out of control. And pained. Like maybe this means more to him than it should.

“I think I need to talk to him.” He practically sees Ariadne rising up; ready to defend Eames, so he heads her off, raising his head to look at her. “I’m not angry at him, I’m just…” _confused, incredulous, wanting to ask him who the fuck gave him permission to make things so fucking complicated, ask if Eames really does care that much about…_ “I want to fix things.”

“How?”

And that was the question.

“I don’t know.”

Ariadne scrutinises him, looking for something, and he’s more than willing to have her try and find a place for him to start. It’s not like he’s doing much good on his own. “What would you do if he kissed you?”

His eyebrows skyrocket and something in his stomach decides to twist into a knot, a tight, heated knot that revolves solely on the memory of Eames so close to him in the coffee shop, the smell and feel summoned to his mind without effort.

He thinks about what it would be like if he was in his real body and Eames was in his space and his annoying smirk and gloating chuckle was stopped by his own lips. He wonders what it would be like to make Eames speechless, or to have him moaning and begging underneath him.

Arthur swallows and decides rather quickly, “I need to talk to Eames.”

He doesn’t even need to read his face or recognize his smirk to know that Ariadne sees right through him.

* * *

When they get a call from Yusuf, it says something about either their minds or their lives that there’s more apprehension for a conversation than there is about a _potential_ procedure that _might_ get their bodies back.

Arthur figures that when this is all over, he’s going to need a vacation.

A long one.

With Mai Tai’s. And relaxation. And sex.

He wonders if Mombasa is any good this time of year.

* * *

Yusuf is right and what he’s created works, but there’s a price to the success. 

The chemical concoction and the process they go through involves far too much dreamtime and with their stress levels where they are and their lack of sleep so pronounced - making even a normal descent into dreams unwise - they wake up in their own bodies, but the exhaustion hanging onto them is almost crippling.

Arthur knows he should let himself sleep, he knows he should try and relax - to fully appreciate the relief of being himself again - but he can’t. He needs to see Eames, and running on empty is something he’s done before, quite frequently with Cobb, so he knows his limits and how much longer he has before he passes out.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t look like he’s going to drop dead.

He arrives at Eames’ hotel door and his hair is falling in front of eyes and he knows they have darkening bags underneath them and his suit has definitely seen far better days. He’s expecting having to fight his way through the door, but when he knocks and calls Eames’ name his voice cracks on the word and Eames is there in a heartbeat.

Arthur’s surprised until he remembers that Eames is avoiding Ariadne, not him.

“Bloody hell, Arthur. Do you have a contract on you I don’t know about?”

“Not exactly.” He tries not to rub a hand across his face. Normally, he would just push inside and use Eames’ kitchen but he needs to start this on what is as close to friendly ground as they come. “You got coffee?”

Eames looks a little puzzled but slowly steps aside so he can come in. Arthur is in the kitchen in four strides and pours the blessedly already made mixture into a mug. He adds milk, but it’s more as an afterthought than anything else and despite the rarity of him ever doing it on a job, he thinks he’s going to need it for the conversation ahead. He adds three spoons of sugar.

When he turns around, Eames is watching him with eyes that Arthur can only refer to as wary. “May I ask as to the reason you’re stealing my coffee?” He pauses before adding, “And about your previous, utterly unspecific answer?”

After holding the comments in all day, he finds it difficult to summon up any of the banter or sarcasm that used to be the sum of their conversation. His palms feel damp against the mug, but he chooses to believe it’s the heat and not about what’s to come.

“Do you know why Ariadne’s been staying in my hotel room recently?” Arthur asks and it’s like a shutter goes over Eames’ face, not a single emotion visible. Arthur continues quickly, “An experiment went wrong last night. One of Yusuf’s chemicals had an adverse reaction and we’ve spent the last twenty-four hours attempting to… reverse the effects.”

Arthur can’t see it on his face, but he knows Eames’ mind is running through his one answer like its pertinent information on a job. Arthur knows Eames is intelligent and capable; he would never work with him if he wasn’t but this is a step beyond their usual field. 

Arthur can’t predict how things will turn out and the thought both terrifies and thrills him.

“Yusuf was creating an antidote for you today,” Eames deduces.

Arthur takes a sip of his coffee and gives a small nod. “Yes.”

“He found a cure?”

“If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

Eames is relaxing now and comes forward to make his own cup of coffee. Their arms brush and Arthur doesn’t quite shiver. “Who knew about it?”

“Ariadne, Yusuf,” a pause and a glance at the forger, “and now you.”

Eames eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Arthur with surprise. “Not Cobb?”

“Ariadne didn’t want to disappoint him. We would have told him before the job but only if we couldn’t reverse it.”

Eames catches the hint without effort. He keeps making his coffee, but his voice gains curiosity. “Only if you couldn’t? Loathe of me to not be deeply flattered, but why are you telling me? I was unaware I garnered into any kind of group huddle that you were in charge of, darling.”

This is what he’s been working up to; this is what his sweating palms, his dismal lack of sleep and his careful responses are here for. This is what it all comes down to.

Arthur places his mug beside him on the counter, next to Eames’ and garnering the forger’s attention. He looks straight at Eames, and asks point-blank, “Have you ever heard of consciousness being transferred, Eames, rather than shared?”

Arthur sees the moment it clicks and it’s not the colour draining from Eames’ face or his back stiffening that does it - it’s his eyes; realisation and resignation with so much disappointed sadness in them.

“Ah.” He looks down at his coffee, the faint blend of colour from the milk swirling along the surface. Eames picks it up after a long moment and turns to leave the kitchen. This time they don’t touch. “Well, may I request you punch me in the bathroom? I’d rather not stain these expensive carpets.”

Arthur licks his lips. “I am not here to punch you, Eames.”

He can see Eames’ shoulders tense but he doesn’t turn around to face him. Arthur feels his fists clench at the sheer _idiocy_ of the forger turning his back on someone he thinks is about to attack him. “Ah, yes. I always knew you were a truly trigger-happy individual.” 

Slowly Eames turns around to face him, but Arthur doesn’t feel any better. Eames looks like an important piece of him has cracked and Arthur realises he’s having trouble pulling himself together. At taking this - _rejection_. “I may point out, that having me incapacitated will make the upcoming extraction slightly more difficult.”

Arthur can feel frustration begin to creep through his system. “I’m not here to shoot you, Eames.” Arthur becomes unsure and he shifts slightly. “I’m…”

_He looks at you like even if you shot him, broke his heart and left him bleeding on the side of the road, he’d still be in love with you._

Arthur knows what she means, and the thought terrifies him because, what if he’s not worth all of that - what if he’s not what Eames _expects_? But Eames is looking at him like he’s bracing for a shot and Arthur is in way over his head, so he’s going to stride in further anyway because he’s got so many bad things ready to go wrong in his life that attempting to grab a good one is surely worth the effort.

Walking forward, he heads directly for Eames and he sees the other’s apprehension but he doesn’t stop until they’re a hairsbreadth apart. He can feel Eames’ breath catch on the word. “Arthur…”

He catches Eames eyes and they’re hopeful and happy and maybe grasping onto more than Arthur could ever say, or do right, or attempt when he was more awake and able to worry and feel paranoid about not being perfect.

“This doesn’t mean you’re not still an asshole,” he tells him.

Eames grins at him like Arthur’s declared his undying love, and Arthur thinks, maybe he has. “Don’t worry, darling, you’re still adorably infuriating.”

Arthur can’t help his huff of laughter and when Eames kisses him softly, slowly and like every bad thing they’ve ever said was a lie, he presses into the embrace and decides, Mombasa will be perfect this time of year.

* * *

When Arthur wakes up the next morning, he becomes aware of two very important facts; one, he is not a girl, and two; he has Eames curled around him and snoring softly. The arm around his waist gives the impression Eames is refusing to let him go.

He remembers last night, when Eames had kissed him and he’d let himself relax, his body going into overdrive at around the same time. Arthur feels embarrassment work its way into his cheeks. He’d practically fallen asleep in Eames’ arms before being led to the forger’s bed, his eyes barely open and a hesitant hand on his lower back guiding him.

He’d slept the moment his head hit the pillow and glancing at Eames, Arthur wonders when the forger had joined him. He smiles a little at the picture the other makes and almost gives into the curiosity of brushing the bangs off Eames’ forehead.

Yet, he has to wonder just how tired and drained he was that he never noticed Eames’ presence beside him throughout the night. It makes him worry slightly for Ariadne, at whether she got to her hotel safely or not. 

Arthur goes to sit up, planning to leave the bed and phone her; to check on her and then inform Cobb where he is, and possibly, what happened to them, but he no sooner tries to move away when the arm around him tightens significantly.

He stills before turning to look at Eames. The forger’s eyes are closed but he’s frowning. “If you are about to sneak out of here and this very lovely warm bedding I would appreciate it if you would wait until sometime after dawn.”

Arthur doesn’t have to look far above the other to see the bedside clock, and when he does he isn’t sure whether to be irritated or amused. “It’s almost nine o’clock, Eames.”

He would definitely need to ring Cobb before he noticed they were late.

The movement is slow, and he realises, designed to give him the chance to pull away as Eames tugs him back down to the bed. The fact that he still hasn’t opened his eyes doesn’t escape Arthur. He allows himself to lie back against the pillow. Eames doesn’t stop holding him.

“Yes, well,” Eames finally says, “allow me a few more minutes, would you, darling?”

Arthur almost rolls his eyes. “You act as though I’m trying to run away from you.” The silence that follows makes Arthur’s body feel cold. He looks at the forger critically, but his voice can only come out soft. “Eames…”

“It’s early, Arthur,” Eames’ voice is rough when he cuts in. “Rationalise last night as much as you want, but if you could just pencil it into your diary a little bit later, I’d much appreciate it.”

Arthur isn’t affectionate by nature, and when that’s combined with a career that involves most people who enter his life carrying a gun, he’s become even less likely to express himself familiarly with gestures. 

Yet Eames is beside him, warm and tangible and far more vulnerable then Arthur ever allowed himself to become - and he is doing it because Arthur is simply _there_.

 _He’d still follow you towards and into the gates of hell, because he thinks you’re_ worth it.

Reaching forward, Arthur brushes his fingers down Eames’ cheek. Eames’ eyes fly open to look at him and Arthur realises why he’d kept them closed for so long. Everything he feels is being expressed in them. Eames isn’t masking his emotions and Arthur has never wanted to punch himself so much in his life.

“I’m not…” his mouth twists slightly, unable to believe Eames thinks he _would_ after this. “Do you really think I came here just to tell you I knew?”

“We’ve already established your penchant for violence.”

Arthur scowls at him. “Which I said I wasn’t about to do. Christ, I’m in the same fucking _bed_ as you, Eames!”

“Well don’t get my hopes up too high now, darling.” Eames voice has dropped to something hard, “I might think you want to stay here with me.”

Arthur resists the urge to reach out and physically shake Eames by the shoulders. Instead he just looks at Eames, willing the forger to do his damn job and _read_ the person in front of him; see the annoyance, the insecurity, the fucking _honesty_ and _affection_ as it truly was - truly _felt_.

The surprise comes first, then the disbelief, and with a faint touch to his hair that Arthur doesn’t reject but isn’t completely thrilled by, he gets a smile.

“ _Darling_.” The word is breathed out as Eames puts a hand behind his neck, carefully, and pulls him closer.

“Stop calling me that,” he mumbles half-heartedly before their lips touch once again.

He doesn’t quite smile because he doesn’t quite need to and with Eames melting into him like maybe he is starting to believe him, Arthur realises that sometimes, you don’t always need a totem to tell you that you’re awake. 

There is a pounding on their hotel door and it’s probably Cobb about to scream at them. Eames is grumbling something about grabbing a gun and Arthur is still enjoying the relief of being himself again.

Sometimes a totem is necessary, but sometimes Arthur feels more than certain about how he got somewhere. Then there are moments, and these, he doesn’t normally get, where he doesn’t want to check, where he doesn’t want to move.

He’s happy, and he means it. So this time, he just smiles.

_-Fin-_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title:** When He Was Her (And He Looked Different)  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Beta:** Aquanova; the main reason my work makes sense.  
>  **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Eames  
>  **Word Count:** 10,019  
>  **Warnings:** Swearing and violent themes. (Much like the movie, only with more obscenities. Hence 'R' rating.)  
>  **Summary:** _Bodyswap; when the consciousness is exchanged between two bodies._  
>  **Author's Note:** I posted this to livejournal a few years ago and have only just (finally) created an A03 account. I made it to post another work that I haven't quite finished yet, for a fandom that isn't found much on livejorunal, so I figured I'd bring my completed fiction over with it. I hope you enjoyed it and that I didn't mess up this post and it's new (to me) formatting too horribly...


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